


The Distance Between

by InsanelyYours96



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanelyYours96/pseuds/InsanelyYours96
Summary: “I… it’s been a long day, Loki. I think I just need to sleep. Maybe then—” his throat clogs up, and tears are abruptly burning on his eyes again. He clenches them shut, shoulders shaking in his effort to suppress a sob. “Maybe then things will make sense again,” he chokes out.“Oh Tony,” Loki breathes, and Tony flinches at how sad he sounds, how understanding. He can’t bring himself to look up.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	The Distance Between

The last thing Tony wants is to be needy. So he says nothing as Loki leaves for longer stretches of time, says nothing when he occasionally collapses on the couch instead of in their bed, says nothing when he ignores Tony in favor of his books.

Tony isn’t used to anybody putting him first, but it wasn’t always like this. 

At the start Loki was attentive, always watching him with heavy, piercing eyes. He joined him in the lab, sat and had tea with him (coffee for Tony, of course), and they spent hours together tangled in bed. It was more than sex, it was the moments in between: shared memories of loss and betrayal and sometimes even joy. Silly, small stories Tony had never bothered to share with anybody else before. 

Perhaps it hadn’t been the same for Loki. Perhaps he was the thousandth lover to hear the same old pillow talk. Maybe it was routine.

Because wasn’t that what Tony had shifted into for Loki? Routine. Boring. Tony noticed it all—he’s observant if nothing else—and as much as he reaches out with his gestures, Loki never reaches in turn. Tony thinks it might be better to begin bracing himself. He had let himself fall, had let himself trust, and it seems so stupid now. Loki had evidently grown bored of him; brilliant or not, he was mortal. Ephemeral. In three-hundred years Loki might not even remember his name.

Tony swallows around the thought, struggling not to become choked up. He’s being stupid. He’s _been_ stupid. Of course Loki would leave; everybody left. One day he wouldn’t come back with the Revengers. One day he would board the ship with Valkyrie, Bruce and Thor and they would decide they have better stops to make than Stark Tower.

Tony fights through his emotions and his mind and tries to believe. He has faith in Loki, he _does,_ but it doesn’t seem like it’s enough. 

He goes upstairs from the lab, after a fitful night of tossing and turning on his cot, to meet up with the Revengers before they leave. Loki smiles at him briefly, pressing a distracted kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t seem to notice the bags underneath Tony’s eyes, or the way he clings to his shirt-sleeve for a moment before letting go.

Tony clears his throat, smiling at Bruce - he doesn’t seem to notice anything off any more than Loki does. But then, Tony’s trained himself to hide hurt feelings a long time ago. Just because he isn’t using snark and babble now doesn’t make his techniques any less effective.

“So, where are you guys headed this time?” 

“Loki has a little _something_ to pick up in Alfheim,” Valkeryie says slyly, and the implication in her voice makes something in Tony’s chest shrivel. Loki’s sharp, annoyed hiss of her name only makes him want to curl up in a ball of self-pity. Do they think him stupid? That they can just talk about some - some Elven _conquest_ of Loki’s and he won’t notice?

 _It doesn’t necessarily mean that,_ Tony reminds himself harshly. He trusts Loki, he does, even if it’s getting harder and harder to remember why. 

Loki turns to him, and for a moment he looks almost anxious, and Tony thinks _this is it. They aren’t coming back._

But Loki only says, “We might be longer than usual, Anthony,” which is what he’s been saying for months. 

Tony nods, squeezing Loki’s hand reassuringly even though he feels like screaming and crying and breaking things. The sinking feeling in his stomach only grows more evident.

“Okay, trouble. Have fun.” He quirks a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, bends forward to peck Loki on the cheek (he doesn’t pull away, he _lets him_ , and it’s such a relief even if it feels like pure indulgence) and waves goodbye to Val and Bruce. Thor is watching him with narrowed eyes, and it nearly breaks him, that _Thor_ is the only one that seems to notice anything is odd. 

That Loki just doesn’t care enough to look anymore.

He swallows heavily, averting his eyes, and is surprised when Loki returns his kiss with a firm peck to the mouth. He blinks at him, and Loki looks almost confused by his surprise, but then Val calls out, “It’s time,” and they head off with words of goodbye.

“Sir?” JARVIS asks, concerned.

Tony stays utterly still until take off is confirmed, and then he grabs his favorite coffee mug and hurtles it across the room.

It sets the tone for the next several days.

He goes to the lab and works himself until he passes out on the hard work table. And when he wakes up, stiff and miserable, he breaks. He sobs, curling into himself, aching and alone. He feels a sense of great loss - though Loki had said nothing to officially end their relationship, despite months of _this_ , and isn’t Tony clever enough to take a hint? 

He cries for a long time, until he feels utterly empty, devoid of anything meaningful. And then he throws himself back into creating.

He makes upgrades to the latest Stark phone, communication devices, spy equipment. And then he looks at the suit of armor in the corner and starts making weapons. 

He is reckless and swift. He does things that he shouldn’t in his current state, where a shaking hand could level his lab and an entire city block beyond it. 

He makes weapons that he swore never to create again outside of Iron Man, and it’s to hurt himself, in part. His world feels like the foundation is trembling, and this has happened before, after his parents, after JARVIS, after Afghanastan and Rhodey leaving and fucking Obidiah.

And after he has a rocket that could level his city, he throws some more things and screams and curses himself. He loses track of the days, loses his voice at one point. JARVIS is locked down, unable to contact anybody without him entering express codes.

He sleeps little and fitfully. He always has nightmares when he sleeps alone, unless he’s tired enough to black out. He eventually does that, and when he wakes he does so with a sigh.

He disassembles the weapon he’s built and turns his attention back to his company. He itches for a drink. He hasn’t had one in two years, but he _wants_ for it just as much as for Loki. 

He eventually throws away the design he’s been pouring over and coaxes DUM-E and U from their hiding spots. He brings them out of the lab - he’s only done that twice - and enjoys their concerned company while he makes a haphazard sandwich and drinks espresso. 

He takes a shower for the first time in over a week. He puts on clothes that make him feel a little more human. He stares at himself in the mirror and he hates what he sees more than usual. 

He’s too thin, haggard, ugly. (It’s no wonder Loki doesn’t want him, he’s a mess.) He looks much like he did eight years ago, minus the sunburn.

He tries to make himself into a human again. He _tries._

(He always tries - always _fails._ )

Tony takes the bots everywhere. They’re soothing, and help keep him coherent. He unmutes JARVIS, but still doesn’t allow him to contact anybody. The AI dotes on him, concerned and annoyed and as bitingly sarcastic as ever. Tony adores him. 

He smiles for the first time in a long time and begins to take care of himself under his AI’s watchful eyes. 

The Revengers arrive the next day. Tony is sitting on the couch with red rimmed eyes, having broken earlier when DUM-E began patting his head. He looks up, surprised and vulnerable, scrambling for a mask, and Loki says, “Oh, Tony.” 

“Hi,” he says awkwardly, still a bit burnt out from crying, voice only half-back. U chirps aggressively, and DUM-E brandishes the fire extinguisher in a bald threat. Loki’s lips part in surprise - the bots adore him, so this reaction is far from the norm.

Thor clears his throat, glares at his brother for a brief moment—“I told you something was amiss,” he rumbles—and drags the rest of the team from the room.

Wonderful.

Tony flushes, humiliation spreading. Loki is _looking_ at him for the first time in what seems like years, and Tony isn’t sure what to do. He curls into himself a bit, and at that action—Tony Stark always makes himself a bigger target, not a smaller one—Loki springs forward, dropping to his knees before him.

“Anthony, what is it? What’s happened?” he asks, naked concern in his voice, hand balancing warm on Tony’s knee. Tony might close his eyes and pretend everything is as it was, but he can’t.

He can’t do this anymore. He shouldn’t have done it in the first place. He’ll make it clear where they stand, and Loki will leave ( _forever_ ) and his suffering won’t end, but at least there wouldn’t be this uncertainty.

He clears his throat, voice reedy ( _pathetic as always)_ when he says, “Look, if you want to break up, just do it already.” 

Loki blinks at him, and he looks surprised ( _hurt? No, he must be thrilled right now._ ), hand dropping off of Tony’s knee. “ _What?_ ” he snaps.

Anger Tony can deal with. It might make things faster, cleaner. The hot dagger cut the smoothest, and all that.

“You obviously want to,” he says back, without any of Loki’s heat. Really, Tony’s exhausted, wrung out, dehydrated and hungry and tired and done with all of it. “We’ve been together all of seven waking hours these past four months. You hardly look at me any more, nevertheless touch me. It’s painfully clear that you would rather be anywhere but here, so I don’t understand why you keep coming back. I don’t understand _what I did._ I thought we were—was it the last fundraiser we went to? I told you you didn’t have to go, hell I’m not surprised you got bored with me—and all of this incessant mortal _shit—_ I’m not, really, but I don’t _understand._ Since when are you the type to endure the affections of a man you can’t stand to be around?”

“Oh Anthony,” Loki breathes, “You’ve always meant the world to me. I’m sorry I let you forget that.” 

Tony jerks back as if struck. Loki winces as well, and when Tony looks closer he can see something like tears in the other man's eyes, and he doesn’t _understand—_

“I never meant for you to feel this way,” Loki says, watching him so intently, willing him to believe it. “I just needed to do everything properly. All the steps have been set, I wanted—”

Loki stares down at his knees in bald frustration, and then he looks back up, forlorn, and sighs deeply. He twists his wrist and opens his hand, showing Tony a ring. It’s a breathtaking thing, obsidian with veins of gold breaking through it. 

“I _was_ neglecting you,” Loki agrees into the quiet, as Tony tries to process what the ring _meant._ The very last thing that Loki would ever do is _propose_ to the very-mortal man he had been discarding for months now. It must have been for somebody else—somebody _new._ And he was showing it to Tony like a - an out, an explanation. But then Loki says, “You always walked in at the worst possible moment, I was sure Valkyrie would give it all away. I love you; I would be honored to have your hand, and have you with me forever.” and nothing makes sense anymore.

The world spins in place and Loki is in the middle, on his knees, an anchor of gravity. Tony’s hands are shaking, his eyes welling with a fresh set of tears, and he _can’t._

It has to be a joke, a trick, a lie, and he can’t handle it. Loki can’t _expect_ him to—can’t treat him like he doesn’t exist for so long and then pull out a ring and think things will fall back into place.

Tony has been abandoned so very many times and none of them hurt as much as the last. Loki’s already done it, already _broken him_ , and he thinks silly words—silly _lies_ because what else can they be when Loki’s actions have contradicted his ‘wants’ so thoroughly—can sway him?

“I’m not stupid,” he chokes out. “Why would you say that?”

Loki is openly hurt for a moment. “You don’t believe me,” he says, and Tony hears the silent words that come next. _You’ve always believed me. The only one to believe the liar, the trickster, the silvertongue._

Tony just stares, unsure what to say. Of course he doesn’t; he _can’t._

Loki peers into his eyes, denial and acceptance warring on his face. He twists his wrist again. A golden apple appears in his other hand, which trembles around it.

“I passed the trials set before me to obtain this for you. An apple, so you could equal my lifespan, so that we could remain together forever.”

“I - I see that I’ve made a mistake.” Tony makes a small sound, deep and hurt in his throat, and Loki’s hand cradles his cheek. His expression is broken open, full of yearning, love, fear, acceptance. “I wanted to surprise you. To make a gesture. But all I have managed is to neglect you, to bring you to this in my carelessness. You must loathe me, Anthony.”

There is a moment of stillness and then Tony laughs, wet and breaking. “The only thing that can bring men like us so low isn’t hate, Loki. It’s _love_.”

Loki starts, staring at him with bald awe. Tony can’t bear it, not after so many days of convincing himself of what was to come. Telling himself he didn’t _deserve_ to see that look on Loki’s face. 

He stares down at his hands, unsure of where to go from here. He thinks that the gesture, that Loki’s thoughts and intentions, should warm his chest but he still feels wrung out. Distant. _Depressed._

He swallows dryly, hesitantly setting a hand on Loki’s. It doesn’t make him feel any closer to him, only more distant. Out of tempo. His head throbs insistently behind his eyes and he sighs. 

“I… it’s been a long day, Loki. I think I just need to sleep. Maybe then—” his throat clogs up, and tears are abruptly burning on his eyes again. He clenches them shut, shoulders shaking in his effort to suppress a sob. “Maybe then things will make sense again,” he chokes out. 

“Oh Tony,” Loki breathes, and Tony flinches at how _sad_ he sounds, how understanding. He can’t bring himself to look up. “Whatever will help, _ástin mín_.”

The pet name only makes Tony’s eyes burn more. He’s a mess of confusion and longing and despair, and there’s still no hope in him, not how. It’s like he’s been drained of any positive emotion. 

He nods shortly, throat hot and too tight for words. Loki makes a small noise in the back of his throat, cold fingers brushing away his tears carefully. 

“Do you wish to sleep alone?”

Tony’s fingers clench into his pants. That, at least, is easy to answer. “ _No.”_

He only second-guesses himself after—what if Loki doesn’t really wish to, if he’d asked out of pity—but the sigh of relief pushes the thoughts from his head. 

“Thank you,” the god breaths out, thumb rubbing into his white knuckles. Tony’s hand relaxes. 

Something cold impacts his cheekbone, and Tony looks up to see DUM-E, who beeps at him in clear concern. He can’t even muster a smile, just nods a bit. 

“I’m going to bed, bud. J will call the elevator for you guys.”

DUM-E whines, concerned and perhaps annoyed that he can’t come sleep in Tony’s room again. U rolls into her brother and clicks, spinning a claw at Tony in farewell. Another bump and a few beeps is all it takes for DUM-E to begin grudgingly rolling to the elevator. 

Tony looks over, meeting Loki’s gaze. Green eyes peer into his steadily, concern clear. Something bitter in Tony’s mind asks where that look has been for _months_ but he swallows it down and accepts the hand Loki puts out to help him stand. 

_Maybe things would make sense in the morning._


End file.
